


Mother

by dinosaurdragon



Series: Missing Moments from TWotS [10]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alistair's Mother's Identity is Revealed, Gen, Spoilers for The Calling novel, Vir'era knows too many secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-06 20:56:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6769603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinosaurdragon/pseuds/dinosaurdragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vir'era made a promise to Alistair. He's good at keeping his promises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mother

**Author's Note:**

> as promised, since i do not currently have a fully-written & ready proper chapter for this week in Kirkwall due to Real Life Shenanigans, here's something tied to the last chapter i uploaded to hopefully tide you over. should be able to update an actual chapter next week. my apologies, and thank you for your patience.
> 
> minor secondary note: i'm fuzzy on the canon year-end/year-start timeline, so i've made a minor executive decision regarding twots & all related things that, for my purposes, if nothing else, the start of the year in thedas is the winter solstice/first of winter.

[Denerim, 9:31 Dragon. Late autumn, almost the new year.]

The large wooden doors of Denerim’s Royal Palace opened much more easily this time than they had the first time I’d visited. Maybe it was just my imagination, because this time I’d been invited rather than inviting myself, or maybe they’d been oiled recently. It didn’t particularly matter.

A servant, recognizing my armor and my staff and my dog, bowed when she greeted me, and I couldn’t tell her to stop fast enough. She was an elf, like me, and I hated the idea of our people bowing to anyone but kings—and often even then. “Good afternoon, Warden Vir’era. King Alistair told us to expect you,” she said, and she smiled like she was personally happy for my presence. “Let me show you to your room.”

Littlefoot panted happily at her, and I smiled as well. “Thank you.” She turned to lead me down halls I recognized from my brief time spent here after Alistair’s coronation, and I started to suspect that Alistair was going to place me in the same room that I’d been in then, too.

“Here we are,” said the servant, whose name I had forgotten to ask for. I stepped into the room (which was, indeed, the very same one I’d stayed in last time) and turned to ask her, but she beat me to the punch. “My name is Linela, and if you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask for me. I will be at your disposal.”

She seemed honestly happy for it, too. Maybe she was simply delighted because I was an elf, and yet I was also important enough to visit the king and have a room held at the palace. Maybe she was just good at hiding her true thoughts. Either way, I gave her as kind a smile as I could manage. “Thank you, Linela. I will.”

When I’d used her name, she brightened even more, and I wondered if Ferelden was just as bad as Orlais about not using an elven servant’s name until and unless absolutely required. I hoped not. I wanted to think of Ferelden as better, somehow, at least in this. I turned back into the room and placed my pack on my bed, and Linela disappeared with no sound except the swish of her servant’s dress.

It wasn’t long after, and I had barely enough time to unpack my few clothes (freshly laundered to remove the worst of the Darktown stains and stench), when there was a knock at my door.

Alistair himself stood there. Capella was nowhere in sight. From the slight panting, I assumed Alistair had all but run to meet me, and it made my chest feel two sizes too small. I’d caused him much more worry than I thought with my letter and revelation about Goldanna.

“Capella’s getting me out of meetings,” he said, instead of greeting me. “She—I want her there for this, whatever it is. There’s a room near my office. I told her to find us there. Are you—can we—”

“I don’t have a reason to wait anymore,” I answered. His shoulders sagged briefly, and he looked heavenward, like he was sending a prayer of thanks to his Maker. The constricting feeling around my heart refused to lessen.

“This way, then.” And he was off, walking quickly down the hall. I had to almost run to keep up with him and his long, speedy strides, but he didn’t slow, and I didn’t ask him to. He’d waited long enough.

The room was small and cozy and private. Only one door led in, and even that seemed mostly a secret, hidden behind a bookshelf—though the cleanliness here suggested that either Alistair cleaned, or at least one servant knew this room existed. There wasn’t a fireplace, because the room was too small, but a beautiful mosaic on one side of the room exuded warmth anyways.

Littlefoot and I sat facing the mosaic. Alistair paced what little space there was, wise enough to stay clear of the now-closed door but impatient enough to keep at it until the door opened and Capella entered. She looked better as a queen than she ever had as a Warden, like the position suited her in every way possible. Her hair was tied back in an intricate weave of braid and bun that I could not make sense of, and it let her scar show clearly to the world.

Most queens would hide such a thing, but Capella was not most queens, and this was as much a reminder of her prowess in battle as anything could be, as much a reminder of how dangerous she was as the way she held herself.

“It’s good to see you, Vir’era,” she greeted, and she even smiled as she sat down, despite the otherwise obvious tension in the room.

Alistair mimicked her, finally stopping his pacing to take a seat next to his wife and queen, and he turned his gaze on me, worried and expectant and maybe, just maybe, a little bit lonely. He had a wife, had friends and a place in the world, but he had no parents, no siblings, no blood family, and it’s one thing to choose that, but another entirely to have that choice taken from you.

I understood why Maric did it, but I couldn’t say I agreed, not ever.

“Your mother was a Grey Warden,” I said, instead of greeting Capella, instead of leading up slowly. “And a mage, and an elf, and she’s still alive, and she knows who you are, but she doesn’t know that I know, and everyone else—anyone who knew who she is in relation to you—they’re all dead.”

Alistair stared at me, not saying a single word, and Capella continued to listen quietly, so I continued, “Before—before I tell you who she is, Alistair, you must promise me that you will not do anything rash. You’re a king now, and if anyone found out that your mother was an elf, that she was a mage on top of that, your days on the throne would come to an end far too soon. Can you promise me that much, please? We did so much to get you here, because you are what Ferelden needs right now. I… I want to tell you, I really and truly do, but I cannot let you jeopardize that.”

His jaw clenched. He had the look on his face that he used to get when Daylen or Castor would say something particularly annoying, the look that said he was about to start arguing with them to defend whatever it was, but he paused. Capella held his hand, had been holding it the whole time, and I knew this was her influence, knew that even if it wasn’t something she had done just now, it was something she had started.

Alistair did continue to give me a very upset look, but he was at least thinking about what I said, about what it meant for him and for everyone around him, and after a while, he looked to the ground and sighed. When he brought his eyes back to mine, he nodded. “Okay, Vir’era. I promise. But I don’t promise not to seek her out. I… I want her to know that I know, at least.”

I gave him a little smile. I could accept that. “Just be careful about it, okay?” I didn’t remind him once again that he was a king, that every move he made would be watched carefully and scrutinized, because he knew.

“Her name is Fiona. I-I think she’s the Grand Enchanter.”


End file.
